Mactabilis
by Linger1536
Summary: That year Cato kissed her. She bit his lip until she could taste blood. He didn't speak to her for weeks. Cato and Clove's relationship during the Hunger Games


**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games!**

**This will be a Cato/Clove story. I will use parts both from the book and the film, but mostly from the film since I haven't read the whole book. Cato is 18 and Clove 15. It might be a bit au when it comes to their families. **

"_You kill them, do you understand? You kill them all, every single one of them. Kill them, and bring pride to our district. Kill them!" The voice echoed through the hall, bearing down heavily on the children gathered inside. _

"_What do you do?" roared the voice._

"_We kill them!" chanted the children. "We kill everyone, we tear their lives away! We kill our partner, we bring pride to our District!"_

The children of District Two were taught this mantra at an early age. It was the first thing they learned in the training centre at the tender age of ten. Before every training began they spoke the words in unison and then as every training session drew to its close. It was drilled into their heads and many children beneath the age ten knew it. It wasn't a rare sight to see a four year old skipping down the road, whispering the words to himself.

Clove joined the centre at the age of ten which was required of every child, she joined with the intention of volunteering when she became eighteen. Already as a small child she knew what would become of her life; train, volunteer, win and bring pride to her district. It was all her mother would talk to Clove about. She would put Clove to sleep every night by whispering hushed stories about bloodbaths, pride and honour. When Clove was five she'd had a shaggy looking puppy that followed her around everywhere she went. Her mother had drowned the dog, forcing Clove to watch as the puppy let out shrieks of terror. Her mother had then tossed the battered thing at her. It hung limp from Clove's small hands, water dripping from it's fur onto her feet.

"No attachments," had her mother hissed.

* * *

When she was eleven she met Cato. He was three years older than her and most children feared him, Clove didn't. At this age she was ruthless. They said she resembled the Angel of Death, with her raven hair that flew around her as she moved quickly, spinning and darting knives everywhere. An older boy did not scare her, there were few things that did and she never admitted to it. Despite the odds that were against them they formed a relationship, which mostly consisted of taunting and provoking each other. They brought out each others best skills in the centre and somewhere along the way they became friends. It wasn't spoken of, Clove's mother would never approve and there was no telling how Cato's uncle would react. The District did not approve of bonds being created between those who would eventually volunteer, but if they knew of their friendship they did not pay it much mind. Clove was three years younger than Cato and therefore he would volunteer three years before her. They had more important issues to focus on than two children.

They kissed for the first time when she was thirteen. Cato didn't like it, he said she was a child. She didn't speak to him for months. Whenever they were paired up during training they tore at each other, trying to cut through skin. Her knives slashing everywhere, his sword doing the same. They would return home bloody and battered but with a smile playing on their lips, both proud. After she turned fourteen her body began to fill out more and taking on womanly curves. That year Cato kissed her. She bit his lip until she could taste blood. He didn't speak to her for weeks, Clove didn't mind, she had the upper hand.

* * *

"Cato?" called Clove as she manoeuvred her way around the slick stones in the darkness.

She could hear the water lapping gently against the shore but there was no sound of another person being near. Clove grumbled angrily as she flopped down onto a larger stone and her eyes settled on the lake in front of her. She could just make out the glimmer of the water in the faint moonlight but she knew the lake by its every curve. On hot summer nights when she was younger she used to spend hours in the water, pretending it was another world and she was its discoverer.

The air around Clove changed and her senses perked. She listened intently as her hand slipped into her pocket closing around a small but sharp knife.

"Gotcha," whispered a voice from behind her and then there was a sword pressing against her throat.

"Heart," said Clove a smirk tugging at her lips.

She couldn't see him but she knew that there was exasperation in his blue eyes as they travelled down his chest to the knife positioned against the skin above his heart.

"One day," he promised her as he removed the sword.

Clove merely shook her head, her hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. Then he was in front of her and grasping her face in his calloused hands as he brought his lips to hers. Clove groaned, taking his lower lip between her teeth, teasingly nibbling at it. He growled in warning, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer to him. His lips left hers, travelling along her cheek until her reached her ear.

"Clove," he whispered and she wrapped her lean legs around his sturdy waist, pulling him closer to her and he let out a sigh of relief.

They came together quickly, their bodies rocking against each other while their hands stroked along the other's body. Clove's hands wound their way into his blond spikes, her breath fanning across his face as she gasped with pleasure. "You will win," his eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice and their gazes locked.

"I'll win."

* * *

"Clove Sevina!"

There's only a flicker of hesitation on Clove's face as she approach the stage, but it's gone before anyone has a chance to register it. The escort; a stubby woman wearing a horrendous orange dress with ruffles claps her hands.

"Lovely little thing!" She exclaims in that dreadful Capitol dialect, and Clove has to resist the urge to jump her. "Now," she says addressing the crowd. "Do we have any volunteers?"

The crowd is silence. The younger children turn to gawk at the older ones, there is always someone willing to volunteer but no one does. She isn't truly surprised by this, anyone would expect her to want to be in the games, and she does … just not this one.

"Well," says the escort, miffed by the crowd's response, "boys then."

A scrawny looking boy's name is called. He stumbles forward, his hands shaking so much that he has to stuff them into his pockets.

"Volunteers?" asks the escort.

Cato lunges forward heading for the stage. "I volunteer!"

The woman's sour face lights up at his voice. "Excellent!" She beams at Cato. "Now there's a brave young man."

They turn to shake hands and Clove can't meet his gaze as her features settle into a scowl.

"_You kill them, do you understand? You kill them all, every single one of them."_


End file.
